His and Hers
by Acacia Carter
Summary: In a perfect world, Neville and Hannah's wedding would go off without a hitch. This is not a perfect world.


**HIS**

If he opened his eyes, he was going to die. Of that, Neville was absolutely certain.

Tobias didn't seem to care. He prodded Neville in the shoulder again, hard. "Oi. Get up. Hermione's here to see you."

"Tell her I've died and I'll see her at the wedding," Neville mumbled, pulling his pillow over his head.

Tobias laughed, which was entirely unfair and far too loud. "Here. Drink this."

"No." It was said with as much conviction as he could muster, which was a surprising amount. "No, no, nono. I am never drinking something you give me ever again. Ever."

"It will make you feel a lot better," his co-worker wheedled.

"That's what you said last night, too." Neville remembered the thick golden liquid extremely vividly. It had smelled like smoke and tasted like fire and, to be quite honest, had been the single most glorious thing he'd ever put in his mouth. It had been so wonderful that he'd had enough to lose count.

"Wasn't I right?" The smirk in Tobias's tone was impossible to miss.

"I hate you, Tobias." Neville pulled the pillow off his head and groaned. Why did daytime have to be so sodding bright? Against his better judgement, he cracked his eyes open the minimum amount required to see what Tobias was offering, biting back a groan at the wash of malaise that trickled through his body like sewage.

"I hate you, too, Neville. Drink up. I brewed it myself. The rest of the groomsmen weren't much better off than you, but they woke up hours ago."

"Hours?" It smelled like sour blueberries and yoghurt that had gone slightly off. The aroma did not do anything for Neville's roiling stomach. "What time is it?"

"Half eleven," Tobias responded cheerfully.

Neville blanched. "Half..." The potion was forgotten as he launched himself from the bed, uttering a stream of words he'd only ever heard from his older students when they thought he was out of earshot. "Tobias, the wedding is in an _hour and a half_. Why the hell did you let me sleep this long? Where are my trousers? And my coat? And my boutonnière - I don't even know what that _is_ but I know I'm supposed to have one -" The wave of nausea and Tobias's firm hand on his shoulder were the only reasons he sank back down onto the bed. Tobias firmly placed the flask of potion into Neville's hand.

"Drink that. All of it. Now."

"Don't you use your teacher voice on me," Neville muttered, raising the flask to his lips. He tried to ignore the almost-sickly miasma the potion exuded as it shifted in the tilting flask.

"Neville?" Harry had appeared in the doorway. "Good. You're up. Do you know how to tie a cravat?" The length of pale blue silk hung from his hands like a flag of defeat.

Neville stared, lowering the flask. "No idea. Don't you?"

Harry shook his head. "Never had to. First Muggle wedding I've been in. Or to."

"Drink that or I'm going to force it down your throat," Tobias said. "Harry, I can tie a cravat. I'll be out as soon as I get Neville situated."

Harry bobbed a quick nod and ducked out of the bedroom. Neville steeled himself and tossed back the foul concoction in one long swallow.

He was glad he was sitting down; his centre of balance seemed to shift ninety degrees and he threw out an arm to steady himself as everything came into painfully sharp focus before slamming into normality with a suddenness that made him blink owlishly. His fingers and toes tingled and his neck hurt, but everything else felt... wonderful.

"Whoah."

"What did I tell you?" Tobias clapped Neville on the back amiably.

"Fine. You're not fired today," Neville said grudgingly. "But still - half eleven? What possessed you to let me sleep this long? We have to be at the park in half an hour and-"

"Neville. Listen to me," Tobias said seriously. "It takes all of five minutes for you to put your clothes on. Right now, Hermione's out in the hall with breakfast and a message. You're going to take your time eating, you're going to put on your clothes, and we are going to amble to the park, and we're all going to enjoy your wedding day."

"Amble?" Neville raised an eyebrow.

"Amble. Sashay, even. Promenade. Put some trousers on and I'll send Hermione in. I have to go tie a half-dozen dress cravats."

"Cravats." Neville shook his head as he pulled on the jeans he'd discarded on the floor the night before. "Why I agreed to cravats..."

"Hannah's thinking the same thing right now," came Hermione's voice from the other side of the door. "Are you decent?"

"Decent enough." Hermione pushed open the door. Neville finished pulling a shirt over his head and pulled at the hem to straighten it. "What do you mean, she's thinking the same thing?" He reached out to take the paper-wrapped bundle Hermione was offering; the aroma of cheese and egg and tomato wafted from it and he suddenly realised he was ravenous.

"That horrible cousin of hers told her last night that dress cravats are ill-advised and that wedding parties should gravitate toward wedding ties now, but of course it's too late to do anything about it but fret." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Her entire family is driving me insane. If you ask me, you should have just had a nice normal wizard wedding and told the lot of them that you eloped."

Neville heaved a sigh as he unwrapped his breakfast. "I know. We should have. But she wanted her dad's family there, and they're all Muggles, so that means a giant Muggle do, apparently." He took a giant bite of the bagel sandwich and closed his eyes in appreciation as he chewed.

"About that," Hermione said quickly, while his mouth was full. "The Muggle family bit. Um, something... there was a mishap. Of sorts. Last night. And... well, if everyone here was magical we could fix it, but they're not, and we can't Obliviate everyone without Ministry permission, so we're just going to have to go on with it as it is, but Hannah's in hysterics over it so please don't look horrified or anything when you see her." She delivered this all very fast and with increasing speed, nearly tripping over her words by the time she ran out of breath.

Neville swallowed enough of his mouthful to speak. "What?"

"I have to go, I just told the girls I was getting everyone food -" Hermione bent over and kissed Neville on the cheek before she fled. Neville sat stupidly on the bed as he watched her leave, one cheek distended with the rest of the bite he hadn't swallowed, his left hand holding the bagel sandwich.

"What the hell?" he yelled after her.

**HERS**

"It's horrible," Hannah wailed.

"It's not, it's adorable," her aunt Faith assured her, raising a handkerchief to dab at Hannah's eyes. "You're beautiful, love. Absolutely stunning. Don't you worry about a single thing."

Hannah raised a hand to pull at the short blonde locks that fell just barely past her chin, and felt her eyes begin to tear up again. "He's going to hate it," she moaned.

"He doesn't love you for your hair," her aunt said in that same infuriatingly patronising tone.

"I know he doesn't love me for my hair! But I had grown it out and it was buh - beautiful..."

In the corner of the room, another girl lowered her face into her hands and began sobbing. Hannah shot her an evil glare, but she couldn't keep the anger stoked to the proper heat to stay angry. Even if it was her fault.

"Josie," she said finally, "I - that is -"

"She's trying to say she's glad you didn't burn all her hair clean off," one of Hannah's other cousins quipped from in front of another mirror, where she was pinning her hair back. Hannah's heart felt as though it were breaking in two; Charlotte had beautiful chestnut brown hair that cascaded down to the small her back in a sleek, sexy tumble of wavy curls.

Hannah wanted to throw something at her. Charlotte had always been the gorgeous one; her pale skin was smooth and unblemished, her willowy frame boasted the grace of a lifelong dancer, and the creamy soft yellow of her bridesmaid dress almost appeared luminous, like candlelight. How did she do that? If Hannah didn't know better she'd insist Charlotte had come by some Veela heritage somewhere. Next to her slightly older cousin, she had always felt like a cow. A stocky, freckled, straw-haired cow.

"It was an accident!" Josie bawled.

"We know it was, dear," Aunt Faith said placatingly. "Everything was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Hannah felt at the ends of her hair again, fighting back another surge of near-panic. The club they'd gone to had really been excellent; she had been having such a good time until Josie had knocked over the alcohol lamp and it had skittered across the table. Hannah was fairly certain she could still smell the burning hair, even though Charlotte had done all she could to trim it so everything looked even.

"I have food!" Hermione announced as she backed into the room, her hands supporting two trays of bagel sandwiches and sliced fruit. "Oh, Hannah," she breathed, freezing. "You look lovely."

Hannah looked down at her lap, her hands smoothing the lace of her dress. "I haven't looked in a mirror yet," she said faintly. "I... oh, Hermione, my_ hair_."

"She's been going on like that all morning," Charlotte remarked. "I told her she looks like the most adorable pixie I've ever seen, but she just starts crying again."

"Charlotte, be quiet," Aunt Faith snapped sharply. "You are not helping."

"Well, I can't start redoing her makeup until she stops crying," Charlotte pointed out haughtily. She turned away from the mirror and stood in front of Hannah. Hannah looked up and clenched her hands at the sudden intense desire to claw her perfect cousin's eyes out.

To her extreme surprise, Charlotte knelt down so she was looking up at Hannah, and reached out to take one hand. "Hannah, you are the most beautiful woman in the world today. No, don't give me that. To everyone here who cares about you, and to Neville especially, you are the most beautiful woman in the world. It doesn't matter if you're bald and wearing a burlap sack, he is going to have to pick up his jaw from the floor because today you're becoming his wife. I would kill for a man who will look at me the way Neville is going to look at you in about an hour."

The silence that filled the room was the sparkling, intense silence of astonishment. Charlotte glanced around to see that everyone was looking at her in disbelief. "What? I don't have to be a bitch all of the time."

"You could have fooled me," Josie muttered from her corner.

"You're beautiful. You're radiant. Now dry your eyes and take a cold cloth to your face and I'll see what I can do about that tiny spot you were so worried about this morning." Charlotte rose from her crouch and went back to her mirror, pointedly ignoring the stares that had not ceased.

Hermione was the first to clear her throat. "So... that's why she's your favourite cousin," she said in undertone to Hannah.

Hannah nodded. She reached up again to touch the feathery ends of her hair. "Does it really look all right?" she asked tremulously.

"It looks as though this is exactly what you wanted to look like for your wedding," Hermione replied firmly. "That's how good it looks." She held up a tray. "Fruit?"

"I can't, I'll drip all over my dress," Hannah protested.

Hermione leaned closer and dropped her voice so that Aunt Faith couldn't hear. "Then I can do a mean Scourgify. Bet you Charlotte can't do that."

Hannah allowed herself a tiny giggle.

**HIS**

Trousers.

There were no trousers.

Neville checked the garment bag again. Morning coat, check. Shirt, check. Waistcoat, check. Dress cravat, check. Braces, check. All the fiddly bits like the pocket square and cufflinks, check.

But there were no trousers.

This could not be happening.

Neville dashed down to the sitting room where his groomsmen had collected. "Has anyone seen my trousers?"

"They're not in the bag?" Harry asked.

Neville shook his head. "They're not anywhere."

As one, four groomsmen stood and began looking around the sitting room, all talking at once.

"Did anyone have extra trousers in their garment bag?"

"I have another pair of trousers I wore last night, you could wear mine -"

"You should show up in jeans and the waistcoat, that would be hilarious -"

"Shut _up_, Ron -"

"They're still at the tailor's."

Everyone froze as Tobias announced this, colour draining from his face. He looked at Neville, eyes wide. "They still needed to do up the hem. They were long, remember? I was supposed to take you yesterday to pick them up on the way to the bachelor party..."

Neville stared. It was as though his brain had taken one look at the agenda for today and decided to be elsewhere. "But... my _trousers_," was the most brilliant thing he could think of to say.

"Okay," Harry said, very calmly, "where is the tailor?"

"Closed today." Tobias looked like a gutted fish.

Harry nodded once, his eyes thoughtful for a moment. "Right. Where?"

"They're _closed_," Tobias said again, most pointedly.

"And we," Harry dropped his voice, "can do _magic_, unless you've forgotten because we've been pretending we can't all week."

Neville's jaw dropped. "You can't just - that's breaking about thirty laws -"

"I need to investigate the shop," Harry said offhandedly. "I have reason to believe someone's Muggle-baiting. Usually not my department, but you know how it is. So sorry to duck out for work on your wedding day, Neville, but this shouldn't take me too terribly long." He snatched a business card from the pocket of one of the garment bags, glanced at the address, and then strode out the front door - presumably to find a private place to Disapparate.

There was a moment of silence as everyone watched the front door close. Tobias looked at Neville in disbelief. "Is he actually going to go break the law to get you your trousers?"

Neville reached up with one hand to rub his temples. "That's kind of his thing. You get used to it after a while."

**HERS**

"Blink once more for me," Charlotte said, focused intently on the mascara brush she was holding up to Hannah's lashes. "And again... and look up..."

Hannah took a deep breath and held it for a moment. This was not going at all like she'd wanted. She and her cousins were supposed to have been ready for an hour by now, sipping tea in one of the gardens of the park, waiting for the time when she'd walk down the aisle. Instead she'd had her makeup done, looked in the mirror, and burst into tears. Her aunt and cousins had put her into her dress, hoping to calm her down, but the majesty of the lace and silk felt like it was at such odds with her ragged, shortened hair that it just made things worse.

Now they were running horribly behind schedule, she was sitting under a sheet lest stray powder fall on the white dress that she did not want to take the time to unbutton all the way down the back, and her bridesmaids were lined up and watching her have her makeup done for the second time that day. She did not even want to look at the clock; no doubt Neville was already at the park, goofing off with his groomsmen and greeting guests as they arrived.

"Hannah," Josie said suddenly, looking up from her mobile phone, "Jeff says that they can't find the flowers."

Hannah blinked. "Say what?"

"Jeff says that -"

"I heard what you said - Auntie, didn't the florist ever call you for directions?" Hannah ignored Charlotte's impatient sniff. "They were supposed to call you."

Aunt Faith's brows knitted together as she pulled her mobile phone from her purse. "I've got a text." Her face smoothed as her eyes darted back and forth, but not in a calming way - in an oddly blank and anxious way. "Bollocks," she said faintly.

Hannah's stomach, which had been full of butterflies all day anyway, sank. "What?"

"I'll be right back, dear, I just need to make a call." Her aunt practically scurried from the room.

"Blush, I think, now," Charlotte said firmly, grasping Hannah's chin so that she was looking forward again.

"But -"

"It is being taken care of," Charlotte said in a tone that would brook no nonsense. "Blush now. Samantha, is it? You were going to finish her hair?"

Hannah's co-worker jumped, then nodded, looking with trepidation at the hair styling tools that Charlotte had arranged on the table. Hannah swallowed. In the perfect version of today's plan, Samantha was supposed to have a half hour alone with Hannah which would be spent cheating horrendously on the "no magic" rule under which they'd all been operating all week. Hannah was rather certain Samantha had no idea what any of those tools even did, and Hannah wasn't sure either.

"Actually," Hermione said hesitantly, "if you don't mind me saying, Hannah... your hair looks lovely the way it is."

Charlotte peered at Hermione, then turned a critical look at Hannah's hair. "You know, you're right," she said slowly. "It really did feather out quite nicely. Maybe a little hair spray, so it doesn't cling to the veil, but you're absolutely right. It doesn't need anything else."

Samantha looked as though she'd just been led away from a headsman's block. Hermione winked at her, and Hannah suppressed a smile.

"The florist has got a flat tyre, and doesn't have a spare," Aunt Faith announced from the door. "They're not going to make the delivery in time."

Hannah's head whipped around to the door, nearly upsetting the brush Charlotte had brought nearly to her face to apply the blush. "What?"

"Don't panic," Aunt Faith said in a panicky voice. "We'll - we'll work something out. It should be simple."

"The wedding is in less than an hour," Hannah said desperately, her voice rising shrilly. "How am I supposed to -"

She stopped suddenly when Hermione put a determined hand on her shoulder. "I know someone. I'll take care of it. Your flowers were daisies and forget-me-nots, yes?"

"Where are you going to get flowers with this short of a notice?" Aunt Faith demanded, slightly hysterically.

"I'll take care of it, but I need to leave now," Hermione said firmly. She squeezed Hannah's shoulder reassuringly before she strode out the door.

"I'll go along and see if she needs help," Samantha said hurriedly, disappearing on Hermione's heels.

Charlotte watched them go, puzzlement curling one eyebrow downward. "Hannah, I love you, but you have the oddest friends."

**HIS**

"So this is what a boutonnière is," Neville said as Hermione neatly pinned a cluster of forget-me-nots to his lapel. "Hannah kept talking about them as though I was supposed to know what they were, so I didn't want to ask."

"You seem awfully calm," Hermione quipped as she moved on to pin a boutonnière to her husband's lapel.

"He's in shock," Ron said in a stage whisper. The married men all chuckled; the unmarried men laughed a little ruefully.

"Everyone keeps acting like I should be nervous," Neville said as he carefully leaned against one of the centre supports for the tent. "Should I be? I mean, now that I technically have trousers?" Everyone snickered again, though Harry cleared his throat loudly and looked determinedly at the sky.

Hermione looked as though she wanted to ask, but then thought better of it as she shook her head slightly. "Remember: if anyone asks, I bribed the florist down the street. I think some of the guests - and some of the wedding party - might get a little wild around the eyes if they discovered I conjured these out of thin air."

**HERS**

The tears that welled up in Hannah's eyes were perhaps the first happy tears she'd experienced all morning. "It's so beautiful," she breathed, reaching out to take the bouquet and hold it tenderly.

"Pales next to you," Samantha said with a wide grin. "Why don't you take a look before we leave?"

"Let me get her veil on first," Charlotte interjected, picking up the short length of tulle and stepping behind Hannah. "Does anyone have her earrings?"

"I do."

Everyone turned at the sound of the masculine voice in the doorway. "I assume the door's open because everyone is decent?"

Hannah swallowed back a lump in her throat as Charlotte deftly pinned the veil to her hair. "You can come in, Dad."

Hannah's father pushed the door open the rest of the way, stepping into the room. He stopped, lips parting in shock, as he took in the sight of his daughter on the chair.

"You," he said slowly, taking another step forward, "look just like your mother did, on our wedding day."

The lump in Hannah's throat threatened to grow into a sob; she placed one hand upon her chest and fanned her face with the other.

Her father took a deep breath, as though to compose himself. "Stand up. I want to get a good look at you."

Hannah obliged, standing carefully to avoid catching her heel on the hem of her dress and walking over to the mirror, where she froze for a bare moment as well as she caught her reflection for the first time. She turned slowly; the silk whispered against the lace as the skirt moved with her.

For the first time in her life, she felt beautiful. Graceful. Poised.

"My beautiful daughter," her father said, and Hannah was surprised to hear his voice catch. Her father was not the sentimental type, and she could count on the fingers of one hand the times she could recall him showing such emotion. He stepped behind her and placed both hands on her shoulders, catching her gaze in the mirror. She dimly noticed everyone filing out of the room quietly; Samantha, the last one out, let the door shut with a muffled click.

"These belonged to your mother. She wore them on our wedding day. She wanted to give them to you on yours, but I..." he cleared his throat, looking somehow ashamed. "I wanted to keep them. We lost nearly everything else of hers when..." He took a breath and shook his head, turning her around slowly. "But she wanted you to have them. And now, seeing you like this... I do too."

The earrings that her father pressed into her hand were ones that she recognised from the photographs on the wall growing up; the perfectly matched pearl teardrops that she had looked upon with longing. The photographs were gone, now, lost in the violence that had surrounded her mother's death, but she'd had no idea that the earrings themselves had survived. Reverently, she placed them in her ears, well aware of her father's eyes on her the entire time.

A mobile phone chimed; Hannah's father jumped and pulled his from his pocket. "They're walking over to the park now. Are you ready?"

Hannah took one last look in the mirror before nodding. "Let's go."

**HIS**

"Okay, now I'm nervous." Neville resisted the urge to tug at his collar.

"You'd be insane not to be," Harry sounded irritatingly calm. "But with any luck, things are done going wrong." Neville distantly wanted to punch him.

"You've got this, Nev," Tobias said, clapping Neville on the shoulder. Neville gritted his teeth at the nickname that Tobias knew he hated, and the normality of it grounded him slightly, quelling the nervous fluttering in his gut.

He heard the string quartet begin warming up, and his heart leapt into his throat again. Ron nudged him with his elbow.

"Good luck, Neville. I think that's our cue to head to the back."

Neville nodded, and his groomsmen and best man left to go to their entrance of the tent. Lacing his fingers together, Neville ran over the ceremony in his head.

They'd carefully picked some aspects of traditional wizarding wedding ceremonies to be present; the bride and groom would enter at the same time, for example, approaching from opposite sides of the tent to meet at the altar in the middle. Normally Neville would have his mother and his father to either side of him, and Hannah her mother and father to either side of her, with bridesmaids and groomsmen following, but as they were both sadly lacking in the parent department he'd quickly agreed to the more Muggle processional. The wedding party would be entering at the back of the tent, walking down the middle aisle, ready to receive them both at the altar.

The music inside changed into a stately march, and another spike of adrenaline added to his alertness. If he missed his cue, there would be hell to pay - not only from Hannah, but from her numerous cousins as well.

But this wasn't the song yet. He relaxed, very slightly, closing his eyes and doing his best to compose himself. He was surprised to find himself shaking; he hadn't felt this nervous since... well, since he'd proposed.

There was the chord. Straightening and stepping closer to the tent flap, Neville counted eight beats, then stepped through.

**HERS**

The people sitting to her right were completely irrelevant. Her bridesmaids ahead of her, lined up to the side of her aisle, were irrelevant. The officiant, dressed in his robes of dark green, was irrelevant.

She had eyes only for the man stepping through the tent flap opposite her, and in that instant, she felt her heart swell with so many emotions at once it nearly immobilised her.

He grinned widely, and though it was difficult to tell from this distance, she could swear that he had tears in his eyes.

**HIS**

He was _not _going to cry.

But she looked absolutely perfect.

And he was about to marry her.

Okay, so he would cry a little bit.

**HERS**

She should really be paying attention to what the officiant was saying. A small part of her was paying attention, filing away the memory so she could call upon it later, but right now the only thing she could see was Neville before her, both her hands clasped in his.

**HIS**

"Do you, Neville, take Hannah as your friend, love, and wife, beside her and apart from her, in laughter and in tears, in conflict and tranquillity, asking that she be no other than herself, loving what you know of her, trusting what you do not yet know, in all the ways that life may find you?"

"I do."

**HERS**

"Do you, Hannah, take Neville as your friend, love, and husband, beside him and apart from him, in laughter and in tears, in conflict and tranquillity, asking that he be no other than himself, loving what you know of him, trusting what you do not yet know, in all the ways that life may find you?"

"I do."

**HIS AND HERS**

"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may seal your vows to one another with a kiss."

Neville did not even hesitate; he reached out to slip his arms around the small of Hannah's back and drew - almost yanked - her towards him, much to the amusement of their guests.

Hannah closed her eyes and met Neville's lips with equal fervour, careless of the lip gloss she was undoubtedly getting all over his mouth, careless of the people gathered and watching. It was over too soon - it had to be, for propriety's sake - but as they parted reluctantly they were obviously both as breathless as though they had just kissed for a lifetime. They shared the tiniest of disbelieving laughs, and both knew exactly what the other was thinking: _we've done it. We're _married _now._

"Ladies and gentlemen, friends and family, it brings me immense joy to be the first to introduce you all to Neville and Hannah Longbottom. Please rise and join me in celebrating their first steps together as husband and wife."

Neville offered his arm; Hannah took it, and as the music swelled and their guests rose from their chairs, they took slow steps down the middle aisle toward the back of the tent, both of them smiling so widely that their cheeks had begun to burn.

Outside the tent, the sun had finally chosen to make an appearance, and the grass sparkled with the morning drizzle that had not yet quite dried. Neville reached out and put one hand on either of Hannah's upper arms, holding her still so he could look at her.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, reaching up to brush a strand of hair to the side, taking a moment to comb his fingers through her drastically shortened locks. "Perfect."

"You think so?" Hannah asked.

"I do." He cracked a grin at the echo of his earlier words.

Hannah smiled in answer. "I do, too."

_- finite -_

* * *

"Are those the same trousers we had picked out?"

"...I'll explain later."


End file.
